


Into the Lion's Den

by Untherius



Series: Co-Sovereignty [4]
Category: Emberverse - S. M. Stirling, Tangled (2010)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Untherius/pseuds/Untherius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reconnaissance mission to the Willamette Valley leads Eugene, Rapunzel and a few of their family to Dun Juniper.  During their stay, Rapunzel and her daughter take a trip into Portland to size up the Lord Protector...and to perhaps pick a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Go West, Not-so-young Man

Santiam Pass  
February 15, CY 9, 2021 AD

Eugene, Rapunzel, Sophia, Thorin, and Eva led their llamas westward along the Santiam Highway, once designated US-20. The rest of their party was still camped in scattered groups across the Ochoco and Strawberry Mountains east of Prineville. They'd all spent the previous summer, autumn and most of winter plying the mountains for game, the John Day River for steelhead and smallmouth bass, and the rocks of the John Day and Clarno Formations for metal ores.

The five of them had set out a week earlier to gather intelligence data on the Willamette Valley. There'd been a fair amount of disagreement regarding who should be going and most of the Fitzherbert family had been against Eugene, Rapunzel, _and_ Sophia all going. No one was able to mount a cogent argument and Rapunzel refused to take “because it makes us twitch” as a valid reason. She'd insisted on seeing it all with her own eyes and that had been that. Eugene had insisted on going with her and the other three were more or less along for appearance of numbers.

They'd discussed the idea of traveling cross-country. In the end, they had decided against it partly because travel would be faster along the roads and partly because information was best obtained in the presence of people, which tended to work best when one was at least near civilization. They'd also reasoned that establishing good relations, even before anyone knew their true identities or their purpose in Oregon, was of paramount importance. It would allow them to take the pulse of the region in a way that was usually revealed only to those like themselves who'd be perceived as transient.

So they'd followed Highway 20 into Bend and thence up to Sisters, trading skilled labor or raw titanium metal for food and lodging. They'd stayed at an inn there the previous night at an inn there. People had told them they were crazy trying to go over the Cascades in mid-February, especially bare-footed, but the Fitzherberts insisted they'd been through much worse—which was far more accurate than anyone else had suspected. They'd watered up at Indian Ford just a few miles northwest of Sisters and making good time until encountering the first serious snow just east of Suttle Lake. From there, they'd begun melting a path through the snows that still lay over Santiam Pass, each of them taking turns supplying the necessary heat. Rapunzel had been growing ever more excited since seeing the Three Sisters rearing up beyond Black Butte Ranch outside of Sisters, and had barely stopped going on about the time she and Eugene had spent on the west side of those peaks during their honeymoon four centuries—or ten years, depending on how one reconned the timing--earlier.

They'd just crested out at 4817 feet, the broad, cinder-covered flat supporting lodgepole and western white pines, mountain hemlock, silver, subalpine and noble firs, and Engelmann spruce, most of which were burned-out skeletons from what had been named the B&B Complex Fires that had burned through the area during the summer of 2003. The dacitic horn of Mt. Washington towered over them ten miles to the south and the jagged shell of Three-Fingered Jack echoed it six miles to the north. Both mountains glowed orange-pink in the setting sun. Rapunzel had been babbling on about how the place had looked the first time she and Eugene were there in 2011, pointing to things still buried under three feet of snow. She'd tried unsuccessfully to make Sophia twitch a little with the fact that Rapunzel had been pregnant with her at the time.

They pushed on, swinging around Hogg Rock, to make camp under the cover of hemlocks and firs on the west shore of Lost Lake. Eva melted and dried a clearing and Eugene and Rapunzel set up their tent while Thorin and Sophia melted some of the ice from the lake and caught a few fish for dinner. They ate it raw, rather than announcing their presence with a campfire that would have been quite visible in the dark. They turned in to get some sleep, for they had two thirty-mile days, including several more miles of snow-melting, ahead of them before reaching Sutterdown.


	2. Dun Juniper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eugene and company arrive at Dun Juniper after making an unscheduled detour.

Dun Juniper  
March 1, CY 9, 2021 AD

Eugene, Rapunzel, Sophia, Thorin, and Eva led their llamas up the road toward the towering, white walls of Dun Juniper. The five of them were dressed in tunics of finely-woven, mixed animal hair. Rapunzel and Sophia, of course, were bare-footed. The remainder of their supplies were stowed in bags carried by their animals.

A few days spent in Sutterdown had filled in some of blanks in the accounts they'd gleaned over in CORA country. While Eugene and Thorin had gone about earning their keep doing this and that, Rapunzel, Sophia, and Eva had flitted about town learning all that was learnable. Many had spoken much about a Juniper MacKenzie. Rapunzel had recommended altering their planned loop through the Valley to include a diversion between their visits to Corvallis and Larsdalen and their investigations of Mount Angel and the Protectorate—her family had agreed.

Rapunzel gazed up at the Dun Juniper gate. “Wow!” she exclaimed. The wall itself was smooth, unbroken along its entire expanse. Bulges here and there marked the logs comprising its frame. The pillars on either side of the entry were huge Douglas fir logs, carved with intricate patterns suggestive of human faces, but flowing with organic, leafy designs. She recognized them as vaguely Celtic, the same sorts of designs the Sutterdowners associated with what they called “Old Religion,” but Rapunzel was quite sure they had absolutely no idea that of which they spoke—and in fact she'd briefly grumbled to Eugene that none of them had any clue what 'old' really meant and he'd just chuckled and kissed her. The roof of the Great Hall was visible over the top of the wall. “It's beautiful! Like Minas Tirith and Edoras combined!” Despite her opinions about people's perceptions of the source of their nascent traditions, the artistry, craftsmanship, and care evident in their work were both impressive and exquisite.

Eugene smiled. After more than four hundred years, she was still delighted by everything. He was glad so many of their progeny had taken after her...otherwise, he feared they'd have all gone mad over all that time...just like Gothel had. “Yes, it's something, alright. I might have seen something like this in Sweden, but....” He finished his thought with a shrug. The Sutterdown wall had been more massive, but lacked the elegance of Dun Juniper.  
“You should see Mount Angel,” said a passerby. “It's even more like Minas Tirith.”

Eugene and Rapunzel looked at each other while Eva rolled her eyes. Rapunzel was feeling more and more like their new home would turn out to be somewhere in the Willamette Valley. She didn't know where yet, but she'd been formulating ideas about it since their couple of days in Bend. She was still putting the pieces together in her mind, but she knew their final decision was sure to require the sum total of all her accumulated political experience...or a stomach-churning amount of violence...or probably both. She planned to make a preliminary recommendation to her people in a few days after she'd had a chance to sound out more of the Valley's groups...especially that Lord Protector Arminger character about whom she'd been hearing so much.

*****

Juniper MacKenzie, Chief of the Clan MacKenzie by the Clan's choice, strode from the Great Hall on her way to the butts. Her son Rudi was down there with Princess Mathilda of Portland.

“Lady Juniper?” said an unfamiliar female voice.

Juniper stopped and turned to face a young woman she'd never seen before--which wasn't surprising, as travelers were always coming and going—but there was something different about her and Juniper was having trouble putting her finger on it. The woman's brown hair was lightly but conspicuously tinged an odd red-orange color—almost like it was imbued with flame—a little longer than shoulder-length and tied back in a pony-tail. Her piercing green eyes had fine, brick-red streaks. Her accent was German, but heavily overlain with English, general eastern European, and a dozen others that suggested a level of cosmopolitan travel likely only in the pre-Change world--and even then, highly unlikely in someone that young. There was something behind her round, cheery face that looked inexplicably both very young and very old at the same time. She bore herself in a manner Juniper had seen in few others.

The MacKenzie was unsure whether or not to feel at-ease with the woman before her. A quick glance at her companions, at least one of whom could pass for a sibling, told Juniper that they, too, shared those same elusive qualities. She introduced herself as Elsa, and her companions Eugene, Sophia, Thorin, and Eva. She left out all mention of relationship, which wasn't necessarily all that unusual, but still growing increasingly rare in the Changed world.

The five were travelers currently looking for a place to stay. Juniper thought that a bit odd, as it was still early afternoon and there were a dozen other duns to the north, south, and west easily within a few hours' walk. Their llamas were common enough west of the Cascades, but theirs weren't of a breed with which she was familiar. Their clothing was also strange...it looked a little like wool and was apparently a blend of llama or alpaca with something else that stood out as different. How far had they come? Juniper wasn't getting a bad vibe off of any of them, so she decided her own questions could wait for a couple of hours. Instead, she invited them to stable their animals and refresh themselves at the Great Hall. Either she, or someone else in the know, would show them to guest quarters before evening.

They shook hands before parting ways. _That's odd,_ thought Juniper, _four of them are warm...VERY warm...but they don't look or act like they're sick._ She decided that could wait also.


	3. In the Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rapunzel and her daughter make a martial demonstration before the Armingers in a subversive effort to pick a fight.

Portland  
March 3, CY 9, 2021 AD

Norman Arminger, Lord Protector of Portland, sat on his throne, his wife Sandra at his side. Holding court wasn't necessarily his favorite thing about his job. It had been a long day filled with a continuous stream of supplicants of all sorts. It all tended to run together and he was ever so glad he had both a court recorder and an attentive wife to help him keep it all straight. Most days, he felt he was there more to intimidate everyone, although he wasn't entirely sure whether or not Lady Sandra intimidated them more. Not that it mattered, all things considered.

The politics of running what was essentially a kingdom—though neither he, nor any of his Associates called it that—had become annoying. To be honest, it wasn't something he'd anticipated when he'd risen up to take control following the Change, though he never admitted it to anyone but his wife and closest confidants, who were pretty much limited to the few who'd backed him that first week nearly ten years ago. He'd much rather be having his way with some just-post-pubescent girl...otherwise, what was the point of being an evil warlord if he couldn't indulge in a few...er...perks now and then?

It was getting late and his stomach had begun growling. He hoped beyond reason that it would go unnoticed, although no one would dare act like they had, let alone say anything. He'd just delivered what should be the verdict in the final item of business for the day.

He looked at the Bailiff. “Anything else?” he asked, not entirely sure he was successfully keeping the exasperation out of his voice.

The Bailiff looked down at a clipboard. “Um...one more, my Lord.”

Norman raised an eyebrow. The man had been saying that for at least an hour. “Are you sure?” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm.

“Yes, Sir...I promise.”

The Lord Protector gestured for the Bailiff to continue.

“There is a...” He looked back at the clipboard. “...an Elsa and Sophia from some place called...Corona...with some sort of presentation...or demonstration...they were a bit...vague, my Lord.”

Norman glanced at his wife, catching the disapproval in her otherwise calm expression. Neither of them liked it when court business was vague. It seldom went well when it was. Whatever it was, it was at least bound to be better than another supplication about some mundane banality. There was also something about the name Corona that picked at the back of his mind. It sounded familiar...but how? He had the collective libraries—or what was left of them after portions had been used for heating and cooking fuel or had planes and automobiles crash into them in the aftermath of the Change--of what used to be the City of Portland, Portland State University, Marysville University, Reed College, Mt. Hood Community College and a few others at his disposal and he could either look it up himself or have someone do it for him.

Norman motioned for the pair to come forward. They were young, maybe eighteen, but certainly no older than twenty, and sisters by the look of them. Both had the same brown, oddly orange-tinged, hair tied up off their necks, cute round faces, large, alluring green eyes, and bare feet. They both wore knee-length tunics of some finely-woven fabric that was almost like wool, but looked a bit off. Neither the material nor the garment cut were like anything he'd seen anywhere in the inhabited Oregon territories or their neighbors. One of them ogled the room, her head swiveling back, forth, and around, like an owl. There was also something in their bearing that made him squirm and he was not a man who squirmed easily.

They walked confidently from the back of the room, stopped a few yards from the thrones, and looked Norman right in the eye. They glanced at Sandra, who stiffened slightly, then returned their gaze to Norman.  
He raised an eyebrow slightly. He could literally count on one hand the number of people in the entire Protectorate who ever looked him in the eye with more than a glance, let alone held their gaze. These two girls seemed to be trying to bore holes into his head with their eyes and he found it very unsettling. He had the unshakable feeling that they were sizing him up and he didn't like it one bit. Did they have _any_ idea who he was?

“Good evening,” said one of them. She spoke with a perfectly courteous, but no-nonsense tone. He detected the sort of forcefulness the Lord of Portland had seen in very few...himself, his own wife, and Grand Constable Renfrew in particular. There was something else about her that bothered him a little, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

“You will address the Lord of Portland as 'My Lord Protector,” or “Protector Sir!” barked the Bailiff.

The young woman regarded the man with a raised eyebrow. “I seriously doubt it,” she said evenly.

“You insolent...” The man didn't finish his sentence before reaching out to strike the girl. It didn't connect. In a blur of motion, she blocked his arm with one hand and lanced out with the other, abruptly stopping with her fingers less than an inch from his eyes.

“I would not try that again if I were you,” she said bluntly. She held her pose for a moment before pulling back to again face the thrones, leaving the Bailiff standing wide-eyed and unmoving.

Norman raised his eyebrow just a little more. Maybe the pair would be interesting after all, and not as just another pair of pretty faces. The one who'd confronted his Bailiff took another small step forward and it was then that he noticed the small brick-red flecks in her irises. He abruptly felt a sudden, unbidden, urge to bed her. It was so strong as to be distracting.

“That won't be necessary,” said the Lord of Portland, reining his attention. “I'll allow it...this time. But you _will_ show some respect.”

“I give everyone _exactly_ the respect they deserve,” she said evenly, “no more, no less.”

Norman felt himself getting a bit hot under the collar, but he forced it down with what felt like more willpower than was usual. “Then tell me, miss...?”

“Elsa,” she replied.

“Tell me, Miss Elsa, what is your business here?”

“We have something to share,” she said, “something that we believe has the potential to tip the balance of power in these parts.”

Norman was always interested in that and he knew his wife was, too. There had, of course, been multiple claimants to that effect over the years. He'd been able to learn something useful from each one, even if it wasn't what those people had expected. Sometimes he'd been able to simply take what they offered anyway, usually employing questionably inscrutable methods. “Continue,” he said with a nod.

She turned to the other girl. “Sophia, if you would?”

Both girls struck a vaguely fencing pose and then each pulled a cast-iron frying pan out of a satchel each wore at her side. _Frying pans?_ thought Norman, _This ought to be...interesting._

Norman leaned over toward Sandra. “Well,” he said quietly, making little effort to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, “at least this should be entertaining.”

The pair began sparring, wielding the frying pans like epees, which was surprising considering the weight of the iron. They began slowly, their movement growing incrementally faster, progressing from a dull clanking through something that looked rather like a dance until the two of them had turned into a blur of motion, the whole thing over-scored by the deafening, nearly-continuous clang of metal-on-metal.

Norman was surprised. The girls had excellent upper-body strength and surprising agility. Surely their little act was choreographed and rehearsed ad-nauseum. It sure looked like an actual combat practice session and God knew he'd done enough of that to choke a whole herd of horses. There was such a peculiar mix of identifiable styles that it had to be staged. Even if it wasn't, how in the world did they figure a couple of girls with frying pans could help the Protectorate conquer the rest of the Willamette Valley?

It then occurred to him that Elsa hadn't said that, just that it would shift the balance of power. The statement was unhelpfully vague, but he somehow had a bad feeling about it.

Their bout wound down and the two girls again faced the Armingers, breathing only fractionally as much as he'd have expected from that much exertion. “Well?” said Elsa.

“That was rehearsed,” said Sandra bluntly, pointing a finger at Elsa.

“We thought you'd say that,” said the girl. She turned around and after a few moments, pointed a pan at a man in armor. “You!” she said forcefully. “Come here,” her command accompanied by a beaconing twitch.

The man in armor stayed put, shifting indecisively.

“I said, 'come here!'” repeated the girl.

“You do not command my soldiers!” barked Norman, surprised by his own lack of self-control.

Elsa looked at him with raised eyebrow. “Do you wish to crush your enemies or do you not?” she said bluntly.

The Protector forced himself to pause, as though considering her question. He'd already decided he wanted to see more, even if only for the amusement of it all. If she tried to override his authority again, however, the consequences would be severe. He nodded to the man in armor, who stepped up and drew his sword as he faced Elsa with raised shield. He looked at his Lord again, who nodded.

The man-at-arms raised his weapon to strike at Elsa. She waited a couple of seconds, then raised a pan to shed the downward blow off its smooth bottom as she stepped aside. The man struck again sideways. Elsa ducked and raised the pan again. The man's blade sheered across it, throwing up a few sparks.

Elsa arced the pan upward and caught her opponent edgewise in the crotch. He grunted audibly, his eyes going wide. She retracted the pan and spun around behind him, crashing the iron into the side of his leg. He went down as his knee gave way. Still mid-spin, she transferred the recoil force into another smashing motion into the man's lower back just below his armor. The man stiffened and Elsa planted a bare foot onto the middle of his back, using her body weight to drive him the rest of the way to the floor.

The entire engagement took all of three seconds. Norman was impressed, if only a little. He pointed to two other men. “You and you,” he said, then nodded. They, too, stepped forward. Surely she wouldn't be able to take on two of them at once.

That fight was over almost before it began. The girl leaped into action just as the two men started to move. She ducked into one of them, slamming her pan into his unprotected under-arm. Norman could hear the dull crunch of some soft tissue--probably a tendon--and a yelp immediately before the man's arm went limp. She whirled in an arc and slammed the edge of her iron into the back of his knee. He struck at her edge-wise with his shield as he fell twisting to the floor, but she deftly dodged it.

In the same motion, she deflected the second man's sword with the bottom of her pan. She grabbed his gauntlet with her free hand and used his momentum to pull him off-balance. Then she bounced up, planted a foot on his chest and brought the pan down on his elbow with another dull crunch of tearing ligaments before jumping free and lighting gracefully on the floor as her opponent landed with an undignified crash atop his comrade.

“That was...interesting,” said Norman, forcing the emotion out of his voice.

“Is that all you have?” said Elsa. “I would have expected better from the most powerful warlord in this part of the world.”

Norman felt his eyes narrow. She was chiding him! How dare she! And why was he so angry about it? He was overreacting, but he didn't know why.

“Husband,” said Sandra, “might I suggest...a different caliber of opponent?”

He inclined his head inquisitively at his wife. “Whom did you have in mind?”

“Tiphane!” called Sandra.

Tiphane Rutherton stepped up from where she'd been standing to the left of the thrones and knelt before the Lady of Portland. “Yes, my Liege?”

“Tiphane here is one of our best fighters,” continued Sandra. “If you can best her, then we'll consider hearing your proposal. I presume you actually have one, do you not?”

“We do,” said Elsa simply.

Sandra inclined her head toward her husband. Strictly speaking, she didn't necessarily need his permission, but in this context, it was important to maintain the appropriate appearances.

“Proceed,” said Norman.

Sandra leaned up so that her mouth was right next to her vassal's ear. “Perhaps you can make up for losing my daughter,” she hissed, referring to an unverified incident during which Mathilda and Rudi had allegedly been re-abducted from Tiphane's charge by something large and furry.

“Of course,” she said simply. Tiphane turned and trotted over to face Elsa. She pulled out a double-edged sword. It was lighter than those used by most fighters in the Protectorate, somewhere between the heavier blades and the rapiers favored by followers of sixteenth-century fighting styles. It was a weapon designed and balanced for speed and finesse. She drew a dagger with the other hand and struck a pose.

“Let's make this even more interesting,” said Elsa. She turned to Sophia. “If you would?”

Sophia walked up to the thrones and pointed at a black cloth covering a small table. “We would like to use that,” she said.

She wasn't about to do what he thought she was about to do, was she? Norman nodded, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Sophia picked up the cloth, walked over to Elsa and used it to blindfold her. Sophia held out her own pan and Elsa took it.

Curious, thought Norman, It wasn't even in her peripheral vision...how did she know where to reach for it? He leaned over to his wife. “This ought to be entertaining,” he said quietly.

“All five seconds of it,” she replied, a slight lilt to her voice.

“And to make things even better,” said Elsa, “shall we make this one to the death?”

Norman, Sandra and Tiphane all exchanged glances. Norman shrugged. “It's your funeral,” he said. What a shame, he thought, to waste such a fine piece of ass. Maybe.... His thought trailed off as he was suddenly aware that he was actually contemplating necrophilia.

Tiphane lunged, leading with her sword. Elsa deflected it effortlessly. Tiphane followed up with a dagger strike and that, too, was deflected. Strike-parry-dodge, strike-parry-dodge, over and over, each of Tiphane's attacks met with cast-iron or air where one of Elsa's body parts had been a moment before.

The Lord of Portland watched in fascination. Tiphane was versed in what he'd thought was every fighting style known to man. Elsa seemed to not only know them all, but was able to meet Tiphane measure-for-measure, even while blindfolded. What was more, the newcomer seemed to be doing it with astonishing ease, despite the considerable weight and imbalance of the cast-iron. Odder still, Elsa seemed to know what Tiphane's moves were going to be almost before she made them, her pans already occupying the paths of Tiphane's blades. After five minutes, Elsa had not made one offensive move, but neither had she given one scrap of ground.

If he didn't know better, which he did, he'd have sworn their fight was just as choreographed as the one between Elsa and Sophia. He was growing less sure about that by the moment. He continued to watch in fascination as Tiphane's breathing grew increasingly labored with the exertion of her assaults as they fell ineffectively against Elsa's so-far impenetrable defense.

For another ten minutes, the two woman whirled round one another, the whoosh and clang of metal and the click of Tiphane's boots on the floor the only sounds in the room. He had to admit, the whole thing was rather impressive.  
He suddenly noticed that Sophia was staring at him and not in a good way. The last time he saw a look like that was when he'd taken down a collection of soldiers and policemen in this very room right after the Change. Only now, the look made his skin crawl and he had to forcibly tear his gaze from her and back to the fight.

Without warning, Elsa transitioned into attack mode. Norman had been watching her intently, as he always watched an opponent, looking for body movements, changes in balance, all the subtle things that he would use against another in a fight. He saw few of them. Damn, she was good! She must be some sort of martial prodigy, he mused.

Elsa moved in a blur almost too fast for Norman to follow. In a rush of aggression, Elsa cracked Tiphane's dagger wrist, almost hard enough to sever it. At the same time, she used her other pan to shatter Tiphane's corresponding kneecap, hard enough to rupture the skin and spill blood onto the floor. She swept one pan up inside Tiphane's sword, catching her edgewise in the elbow with the crack of breaking bone. The other pan slammed into Tiphane's nose, breaking it.

Elsa brought a knee up just below Tiphane's diaphragm, using the woman's sinking movement to add to the force. It knocked the wind out of her. She paused for a moment, then brought both pans around in a scissor motion, breaking several of Tiphane's ribs before using the recoil force to crack the Protectorate woman's skull. The body went limp as the edge of a pan came down on the back of Tiphane's neck with an audible crunch that left the head lolling around like that of a rag doll before flopping onto the floor like a dropped puppet.

Elsa tossed one of the pans over to Sophia, who deftly caught it and returned it to its satchel, before removing the blindfold. “What do you think?” she said to Sophia as she dropped the cloth onto Tiphane's body. “Overkill?”

Sophia shrugged. “I'd have gone for a head-severing blow following the nasal thrust,” she said thoughtfully.

“In a melee situation, sure,” said Elsa, “but that wouldn't have been quite as dramatic here.”

“Fair enough,” said Sophia.

“Impressive,” said Sandra, trying to keep from her voice the disappointment at having lost arguably the single most effective assassin in the entire Protectorate, possibly in the whole greater Northwest.

“Can you really teach my army to fight like that?” said Norman. He wasn't sure he was serious about it, but if a slightly different mass-weapon style could give him an edge on the field, who was he to argue?

“Given enough time,” said Elsa.

“I'm willing to make you an offer. You will teach this style of yours to some of our men-at-arms...as a secondary one, of course, pending actual field testing. In return, I'll give you lands in the Protectorate and titles to go with them.” He wasn't sure he was actually saying that, but said it he just had.

Elsa and Sophia looked at each other, then back at the Armingers.

“We're prepared to make a counter-offer,” said Elsa. She continued before the Lord of Portland could say anything. “You will start behaving yourself.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Norman, not particularly keeping the annoyance out of his voice.

“Your wordfame precedes y'all, Norman and Sandra Arminger.”

 _Wait,_ he thought, _did she just say 'y'all' AND call us by our given names?!_

“Word of your deeds...and misdeeds...has traveled far and wide. We have seen it for ourselves on our way to this room. We have observed with our own senses that the rumors are all true and then some. You will change your modus operandi and treat those you govern with respect and decency.”

Neither of the Armingers said anything.

“What my mother means to say,” said Sophia bluntly, “is that y'all will stop being pricks.”

 _Mother?_ thought Norman. _That's impossible. Now they're DEFINITELY insulting my intelligence._ He could feel the anger rising up inside him and try as he might, he couldn't control it. He was being manipulated and he knew it, which made him angrier. He couldn't stop it either, which made him angrier still. Worse, he sensed the two girls in front of him knew it, and somehow knew that he knew. They were leading him along like a fattened calf and he was inexplicably powerless to stop it.

“You dare give me orders and in my own throne room?!” he bellowed.

“I merely make a statement of fact,” said Elsa, keeping her own voice under even control. “You WILL, one way or another, stop being a prick, as my daughter so eloquently puts it.”

“ _Enough!_ ” roared Norman. “Bailiff! Take these two to the nearest barracks! I'm sure the men there will...know what to do.”

The man in question, and several of the guards stepped forward to carry out their commander's will.

Elsa tilted her head back and laughed. “Oh, Normie, Normie, Normie,” she said condescendingly. Then she glared at him. “Young man, you've just threatened my family. _That_ was a grave, grave mistake!”

“You're in trouble now, bucko!” said Sophia, a lilt to her voice.

Two of the lightly-armored guards grabbed Sophia, one on each arm. No sooner had they done so, then they yelped in pain and let go, shaking their hands around. They looked at Sophia, then down at their hands, then back at her. They held their palms up to reveal burnt and blistered skin.

“I wouldn't try that again if I were you,” said Sophia.

“Don't just stand there!” yelled the Lord of Portland. “Seize them!”

“You'll do no such thing!” said Elsa, as she whirled around to face the other men coming at her. They didn't listen. They grabbed both women, but immediately let go as their hands caught on fire.

The Armingers jumped to their feet. “What the hell?!” shouted Norman.

Elsa looked up at the banners hanging about the room, black with the lidless red eye. “The Eye of Sauron?” she said derisively. “Seriously? Are you bug-shagging nuts?”

Norman and his wife began to breathe heavily, both seething with anger.

“You won't be needing those,” continued the girl. The banners promptly went up in flames, burning to ash in seconds, leaving only minor scorching where they'd been hanging. “You won't need those either,” she said as the Protectorate thrones also went up in flames.

“That was political,” said Elsa. “ _This_ is personal.”

Norman's hair promptly went up in flame and burned away almost before he felt it happen. He looked at his wife just as her wimple and the hair beneath it burned up in a rapid whumph of fire. It happened so fast, that neither of them had time to yelp and were only aware of the pain afterward.

Norman and Sandra stared in horror at each other's now-hairless faces, hardly believing their eyes. Norman turned back to glare at the two women. “ _KILL THEM!_ ” he bellowed.

Crossbow bolts flicked out from weapons about the room, but burst into flame almost before they'd cleared the weapons launching them, and disintegrated into ash before reaching their targets.

Elsa and Sophia retreated briskly, but casually, to the entrance before again turning to the Armingers. “You'll have to try harder than that...much, _much_ harder. We'll give your regards to the Bearkillers, shall we?” said Elsa in a sickeningly sweet tone. “Toodles!” Both girls waved, then turned and trotted out of the room, leaving the Armingers seething and everyone else staring.

Norman turned to the Bailiff. “Get me Renfrew!” he shouted. “And tell the barons to muster at Todenangst!”

“At once, my Lord,” the man sputtered before hurriedly withdrawing.

Norman turned to a maidservant who was trembling an arm's length from Sandra. “You! Aloe vera! Now!” The maid bowed and rushed from the room.

Both Armingers stood there fuming. No one else dared say anything, or even move. Norman wasn't calming down, as he usually would, which just fueled the fires of rage he felt burning in his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rapunzel and Sophia make a point on their way out of Protectorate territory.

Woodburn  
March 4, CY 9, 2021 AD

Rapunzel and Sophia pedaled their borrowed bicycles through Woodburn along what was again called the Pacific Highway, once designated as I-5. A small castle loomed near the road at the southern edge of town and a sign with the word “WalMart” in white letters on a faded blue background announced what used to occupy the site.

“How many of those things does he _have_?” said Sophia.

“Too many,” replied Rapunzel.

“And that checkpoint?” Sophia pointed at the overpass that served as both the frame for the checkpoint and the roadbed for the St. Paul Highway, once designated OR-219. The banner of the Lidless Eye flew from it, just like it did from every Protectorate structure in its territories.

“No,” said Rapunzel as they drew closer, “that stays...for now. As for the flags....”

“I'm on it,” said Sophia cheerily. Seconds later, the banners over the span and on the castle burst into flames and quickly disintegrated in the light breeze. It took a few minutes for anyone by the gate to notice. Once they did, their confusion was obvious.

“As for the castle,” said Rapunzel, “that comes down.”

“I'll cover you,” said Sophia as they stopped, barely twenty yards from the overpass. She watched as her mother stared at the building, then began scanning the vicinity herself. The castle's ferro-concrete walls began to glow, first a dull red, then in ever-brightening hues as the temperature of its material rose. Within minutes, the walls were glowing orange, everything combustible in contact with it began to burn, and the sounds of men and animals shouting and screaming drifted up from within it. Plumes of steam rose up as men threw water on the wall, trying in vain to cool it.

The glow went from orange to yellow until it shown a bright white and began to melt. A dull banging sounded from the steel gate, which had stuck shut after deforming from the heat, as men trapped inside tried to get out.

“What do you think?” Sophia asked. “Should we let them out?”

Rapunzel rolled her eyes. “Of course we should let them out. I'm annoyed, but I'm not a butcher.”

The steel gate abruptly brightened to a glaring blue-white, collapsed into a watery river of molten metal, then just as quickly re-hardened. Strange groaning sounds floated from the castle as the unevenly-cooling steel warped. Two dozen men, some armored, some not, streamed out of the castle, terror clearly visible on their faces. A few of them bent over or collapsed on the grassy verge near the road.

An hour later, steam rose from the glassy lump that used to be the castle. All eyes were still on it, men—military, civilian, traders—all scratching their heads. Most barely noticed Rapunzel and Sophia as they rode up to the check-point.

“I'm sorry...um...girls,” said a man in basic Protectorate armor, “checkpoint's closed. Protectorate protocol.” He glanced nervously at the steaming mound of what used to be ferro-concrete.

“Oh, I'm sure you'll make an exception,” said Rapunzel lightly. At least now she knew more about how the Protectorate did things...which was, after all, a large part of the point of her and Sophie's visit.

“No, I'm afraid not.”

“Yes, you will,” she said sternly.

He stiffened perceptibly. “On whose authority?”

“Mine!” she said, shifting into her queenly demeanor.

He laughed nervously. “Unless you have specific dispensation from the Baron, or from the Lord Protector himself....” His voice trailed off and he shrugged.

“If you need references, I believe my work speaks for itself.” She nodded at the castle's remains.

The man looked at it and then back at Rapunzel. “You'll have to come with me.” He grabbed Rapunzel, then immediately drew his hand back with a yelp. He stared at his palm, then back at Rapunzel.

“That won't be necessary,” she said flatly.

He drew a short sword. “I'm afraid it will.”

“No, it won't,” she repeated. The man dropped the blade as it began to glow. It grew brighter until it melted and fused with the smoking asphalt on which it lay. “We will pass.”

The man, though growing increasingly nervous, continued to hold his ground, albeit tenuously.

“It's not like you can stop me anyway,” added Rapunzel.

The man's eyes narrowed. “Yes, I think we can.”

“I don't think you understand me correctly. You literally can't. You've already failed twice. And if I'm not mistaken...which I'm not...there's a certain sports metaphor that's applicable.”

“Fine,” he said after a pause, still flexing his burnt hand. “We'll hold her instead.” He nodded at Sophia. Two other armored men stepped forward.

Rapunzel bristled. “Oh, no you won't,” she said sternly. “You will not lay a hand on my daughter, on pain of death.”

One of the men laid a hand on Sophia anyway. His hand promptly caught fire and he frantically slapped at it until it went out.

“Do that again,” said Rapunzel, glaring at the men before her, “and I will end you.”

Another man ignored Rapunzel and grabbed Sophia. His entire body burst into flame. His screams were brief and his body turned into ash in seconds, his armor falling into a molten mass of glowing metal on the road at Sophia's feet.

“What did I just say?!” snapped Rapunzel.

Both men stared in horror at their comrade's remains for several pregnant moments, then looked at Rapunzel, the fear written all over their faces.

“Now, you have two choices,” continued Rapunzel. “You can either stand aside on your own volition, or we will ride over your ashes. Either way, we _will_ continue south.”

The two men looked at each other, then stepped tentatively aside.

“Thank-you,” said Rapunzel graciously. She and Sophia rolled past them. “I'll be sure to share this with the Bear Lord,” she called over her shoulder.

“I _hate_ killing,” Rapunzel growled once she and Sophia were out of earshot.

“I know, Mama,” said Sophia. “If I had a sovereign for every time you worried over an execution, I could have bought Russia.”

Rapunzel snorted. “Don't be ridiculous. I obsessed over _every_ execution.”

“I know. I had to cover for you from time to time.”

“And I can almost count on one hand the number of people we ever executed. I'm just glad I never had to do the deed myself.”

Sophia rolled her eyes. “No kidding. I think you'd have exploded...perhaps even literally.”

Rapunzel grunted. “And I really wouldn't have wanted to have had to explain _that_ to the Almighty. 'Oh, sorry, God. I accidentally killed a hundred thousand people because I was stressing out about killing one.' I doubt that would have been convincing.”

“I think He would have forgiven you.”

“Be sure you keep that in mind, Sophia dear. We're both going to need all the forgiveness we can get and that's for all the stuff we've already done.”

Sophia sighed deeply. “I know, Mama. I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous version of this chapter had Rapunzel mercilessly killing the occupants of the Woodburn castle. That always bothered me. First, it was glaringly inconsistent with her character. It also opposed other material that emphasized that she and hers were specifically trying NOT to kill people if it was at all avoidable. So I rewrote it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Dunedain messenger arrives with discouraging words for Juniper.

Dun Juniper  
March 6, CY 9, 2021 AD

Juniper MacKenzie stepped abruptly out the door of the Main Hall. A small crowd was gathered on the far side of the small bench on which the dun was built. There were enough of them to obscure whatever it was that produced the cacophonous, clanging din of metal-on-metal. She strode over and looked over a shoulder.

Her guests, the Fitzherberts, were milling about, striking at each other with...frying pans?

“What the...?” said Juniper.

“It's a sparring match, Lady Juniper,” said Chuck Barstowe.

“Bloody unusual, if you ask me,” added Sam Alyward.

“I'll say!” replied Juniper.

Just then, a young woman—dressed in a black tunic bearing the white tree-and-stars of the Dunedain Rangers--ran up to her, clearly out of breath. “L...lady Juniper,” she gasped.

“What is it?” There was something cutting through the other woman's exhaustion that made Juniper's hair stand on-end. She took the folded piece of paper proffered, opened it up and read it. Her eyes widened and she looked   
skyward. “Goddess Gentle and Strong!” she muttered.

She took the girl by both shoulders. “Go up to the Hall, have something to eat and drink, and get some rest.”

The woman nodded. “Thank-you,” she said, then turned to walk toward the Hall.

Juniper herself turned to the people. “May I have everyone's attention?!” Her singer's voice cut through the noise and, one by one, everyone turned to look at her. “We have a situation! Protectorate forces have been spotted moving south. Dunedain observers report that they appear to be marching on Larsdalen.”

“How much of a force?” asked Chuck.

“All of it,” said Juniper gravely.

Gasps and murmurs went through the crowd.

“We are at war,” she continued. “Sam, I'd like you to call up the War Levies. Everyone else, either report to your levy superiors, or see to your responsibilities as per Clan wartime protocol.”

She looked at the Fitzherberts. They straightened up and Juniper could have sworn they transformed into completely different people right before her eyes. Where before, they'd been any of the myriad of travelers passing through Clan territory over the years, even if a bit eccentric, they now bore the sort of composure Sam later told her he'd only seen in Royalty.

“Yes,” said Rapunzel soberly, “we'll go. We have business elsewhere anyway. We'll be gone within the hour.” She turned to her people and said something to them in a language Juniper didn't recognize. They responded in kind, then thrust their pans into satchels at their waists and trotted off crisply and purposefully in multiple directions.

Juniper looked after them for a moment before returning her attention to her people. “I'd like everyone to assemble in the Great Hall at dusk,” continued Juniper. “Otherwise, let's get to it!”

Everyone scattered and Chuck stepped up to Juniper. “We're screwed, aren't we?” he said quietly.

Juniper took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “With the combined force of the Clan, Corvallis, the Bear-Killers, and Mt. Angel...maybe not. Even if things go well, though, this is going to be _very_ painful, make no mistake.”

**Author's Note:**

> Descriptions of Santiam Pass are based on my own observations on multiple drives over the pass, hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail, ODOT traffic cam images at www.tripcheck.com, botanical data on www.oregonflora.org, and PCT mileage data in Erik the Black's PCT Atlas.


End file.
